


piece of your heart

by longituddeonda



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancing, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Español | Spanish, F/M, Grinding, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: javi takes you out dancing and drunkenly starts saying things in spanish that you can’t understand
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

“So, tonight? Wanna go out dancing with some of the others?” Javier has just walked up to your desk and sat on top of your work, staring you down.

“Dancing? No thanks,” you tell Javier.

Going out dancing with Javier Peña? That involved alcohol and lowered inhibitions and you aren’t ready to do that. You’ll admit, having him here, asking you to go dancing with him, it hurts. You can imagine in another life, one where you weren’t living in Colombia and meddling with international politics in a way even the US President would likely disapprove of, you could be brave, step up and tell Javi how you felt. But you were both in a line of work that didn’t allow for relationships, and catching feelings was the worst illness that could befall you.

And you had caught the virus.

“Come on, it’s been a hell of a week for everyone. There’s about seven of us, going over to the disco downtown, we can get plastered, forget about work, have a bit of fun?” he smiles at you, and you shake your head.

“Not tonight, Javi,” you say. “Anyway, it’s Friday, and we work tomorrow.”

You’ve said yes before. That night sucked. You watched him flirt with every woman in the bar, watched him make out with a young woman in a booth. You cried the entire drive home, and on your way up to your apartment, you passed his first-floor apartment and could hear the moans coming from inside. There was nothing crueler than wanting someone you couldn’t have, someone who would sleep with anyone, except you.

The feeling had weighed heavy on your heart for a long time now, and while it was easy to avoid the man, given that you worked in different departments, he managed to find a reason to visit you. Sneaking him classified documents. Helping him with a wiretap. Doing background checks. And every time he asked you’d comply if only to get a few extra minutes of his presence. A bit more time where that smile was directed at you and not one of the many other women in the building. A few moments where you could pretend that he cared.

“You sure? It’s not really a night without my favorite CIA agent,” he says, putting on the sly grin he uses to bend anyone’s will. The one he uses to get informants to reveal a bit more than they intended.

You want, so badly, to say no. To not force yourself to survive another night of suffering. But you’re weak and probably a masochist. And there’s the fact that he’s asking you, begging you, to come with him. To spend time with him. Even if it means you’ll end the night in tears, historically you’ve never been one to turn down time with Javier, no matter how much it hurt, and you weren’t going to stop tonight.

“Fine, but you’re buying the first round,” you agree.

“Good!” He jumps off of your desk. “It’s gonna be great. See you at eight.”

“Eight, okay...”

He leaves the room, a bit more bounce in his gait, and you smile to yourself, knowing that you were the reason for his excitement.

The day passed slowly, you had too many reports to read through and not enough coffee could keep you going. When you finished for the day, you were one of the last ones still in the office, and you headed home, looking forward to a shower and some warmed up leftovers for dinner.

You don’t have plans to drink too much. You don’t want to be hungover at work, and you had a tendency to spill secrets when wasted. With Javier around, that wasn’t something you wanted to get involved with. Still, you make sure you’ve got enough food in your stomach and drink some water so that the inevitable multitudes of shots you’ll be coerced into drinking don’t go straight to your head.

At eight, you’re waiting in the foyer of the complex, along with Steve, Connie, Marta, the current ambassador’s secretary, and Anthony, one of the other DEA agents that lived in the complex. You were going to be meeting another 5, apparently, at the disco. It was turning into quite the evening, especially considering that you had work the next day. You were told the plan was to take two cars over, so two groups could head back whenever, and if you were too drunk, it was close enough you could probably walk or just take a taxi if things went south.

Javi is obviously rushing as he bursts out of his apartment, still buttoning up his shirt. You let your eyes roam over him from the back of the group. He had put some effort into the look for the evening, a nice pair of slacks than he usually wore, and he had done something with his hair.

It makes you feel more than a bit self-conscious of how unimpressive you look before you mentally slap yourself.  _ You’re not here to impress Javier. You don’t need to put in an effort, even if you did he still wouldn’t go for you. _

“Ready?” Javier asks, and you all exit the building.

Two hours into the evening, you’re sufficiently tipsy after a couple beers. You had resisted Connie’s multiple offers of shots, but you didn’t stop her from dragging you onto the dance floor for a solid hour. You’re sweaty and a bit tired already, back at the bar where some of the guys in your group are gathered.

You watch as Javier starts knocking back shots of tequila with Anthony, something you weren’t expecting. He was always the one to slowly sip at a glass of whiskey over the night, or drink beer. He must really want to get drunk tonight.

You slip onto a barstool and order a bottle of beer. Javier is a couple feet away, and he’s already acting like he’s lost all control, and you worry about his fate in the morning. He wasn’t usually this careless with his alcohol.

He sidles up next to you, “Y/N! We should go dance.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, trying to pull you up off your seat.

“Javi, no,” you say. You should be jumping for joy. Happy that he actually wants to spend time with you. But you know that it’s only because he’s so incredibly drunk.

“Please, darling? I didn’t invite you out so that you could sit here.” he drawls out, his Texas accent appears in moments like this, and you wish it didn’t make you feel things.

He drags his hand down your bare arm, wrapping his fingers around your hand and pulling you up.

“Okay.” You must hate yourself.

He pulls you through the crowds into the center of the dance floor. Arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you yelp in surprise.

_ “¿Todo bien, compañera? _ ” he laughs in your ear, something light and fluttery.

“Javi you know I don’t speak Spanish,” you say, bowing your head.

“You should, it would sound  _ so _ beautiful coming from you,” he says and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he’s so far gone he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

He starts to sway to the music, and his hands on your waist radiate heat straight through your dress. The whole disco is hot, but you feel even warmer wrapped up in Javier. The music thrums through your body, and you look up at his eyes, glittering with the almost-goofy smile he wears.

You want to imagine that this is real. That he’s here, hands all over you, because he wants to. You wish you could move your hands down from around his neck, or pull him in tighter, and not regret it tomorrow morning. You know you’re going to wake up tomorrow alone in bed, remembering how much could have happened if Javier cared, and that he will wake up, probably with someone else, someone who’s in this very room right now.

That thought almost makes you let go of Javier and run away, but he pulls your hips into his, rolling up against you. He lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core, and you close your eyes tight, hoping you’ll open them again for this to be just a dream.

Instead, you open them at the feeling of his breath, hot near your ear.

_ “Eres tan hermosa, Y/N,” _ he says.

You don’t know a word he’s saying but you’re pretty sure you have an idea of what he means. He’s grinding up against you, drunk and probably horny, like he is most nights, the words likely meaning something about how he’d like to take you here on the dance floor. Something disgusting and quick and meaningless.

_ “Me vuelves loco.” _

But you’re too tipsy to get caught up on that. You want to pretend he’s saying anything but what you know he’s going on about. Want to pretend his arms aren’t slinking lower down your back until they brush over your ass. You want to believe he’s doing it because he wants to.

You decide it’s better to let go for the night. Maybe you can pretend. Just for an hour.

The music washes over you, and you move your hips along with his, and while he takes the lead, you follow, dancing as if you knew what you were doing.

_ “Cuando bailas así, no quiero que todos estén aquí, _ ” he groans,  _ “Quiero estar a solas contigo.” _

If only you knew what he was saying. If you knew exactly what sort of lewd things he is saying, maybe it would be enough to knock some sense into your head and leave him on the dance floor. But you don’t.

Thank god you don’t.

It means you get to dance in his arms for a little bit more.

_ “No sabes, porque tu español es una mierda, pero estoy con tantas mujeres para que pueda intentar olvidarte,” _ he says,  _ “Es tortura, tener alguién tan perfecta como tú, tan cerca, pero tan inalcanzable.” _

When he speaks Spanish, he sounds so different. Sometimes, like now, it’s like he’s reciting a love poem. Other times, like when you hear him talking to the police, he becomes someone commanding and aggressive. Not like the Javier who spoke English to you, smiled, and sheepishly asked for favors.

_ “Nunca ha funcionado, no puedo olvidarte,” _ he says.

“Javi, you know I don’t understand you, right?” you say and he responds by thrusting his hips into you again. You bite your lip, and it only becomes more painful as you feel his bulge against your body. You’re just another body for him. And that is a sobering realization. You’re about to cry and you’re glad he’s looking over your shoulder and can’t see your face.

_ “Deseo poder besarte,” _ he whispers in your ear,  _ “Te quiero.” _

You were so stupid to fall for such a man. It’s killing you.

With one hand still on your ass, he brings the other one up, palming your breast. The moan you involuntarily release shocks you enough to push him away.

“Javier,” you say, panicking, “I can’t—“

Before you say anything more you see the twisted look on his face, somewhere between completely ravaged and utterly lost. You turn and, pushing through people, go back to the bar, where you order a shot which you quickly down before sitting down and letting the tears fall.

After fifteen minutes of looking like the saddest person in the disco, the bartender takes pity on you and gives you a glass of water and some tissues. You thank her.

The night had so quickly turned to shit. It was so much worse than previous ones. It was a torture you couldn’t handle anymore.

“Y/N!” screams a voice in your ear, someone drunk and loud.

You turn. It’s Marta.

“What?”

“It’s Javier, he’s outside puking. You’re the soberest of us you need to take him home.”

Shit. Of course this would happen.

“Fine, but take care, Marta, I don’t want you not making it home tonight.”

She thanks you and disappears into the throngs of people.

You settle your tab and Javier’s and go outside. Javier is sitting on the curb, keeled over and emptying his guts onto the stone streets.

If your heart didn’t hurt so much, you’d laugh. You hadn’t known anyone over the age of 30 drunk themselves to this point.

“Javier?” you say.

He looks up and starts to say something, but you can see the regret on his face flash upon opening his mouth as it only brings on another wave of nausea. You look away.

When he finishes, you say, “Come on, Javi, let's get you home.”

He tries to stand and you have to dive into his side to stabilize him. When you’re in a position where you can support his weight, you guide him towards his car.

You strap him into the passenger seat and reach your hand into his pocket, finding the car keys.

The ride home he stays silent. He hasn’t said a word to you since he was whispering in your ear on the dance floor. You suppose he has a fair reason to not open his mouth now though. Probably doesn’t want to soil his own vehicle.

You get him into his apartment just fine, set him up with a glass of water and make him take some pain meds.

“Don’t die on me Javi, no choking on your vomit overnight, okay?” you say and he nods.

Back in your apartment, you sit down on your couch. You should go to sleep. You need to be at work in 7 hours.

But some vicious part of your mind reminds you of the words Javier had said. You curse your curiosity and pull out your Spanish dictionary.

You only remembered three phrases, “ _quiero estar a solas contigo,_ ” “ _deseo poder besarte,_ ” and “ _te quiero._ ”

As you look up the words, your eyes widen.  _ Quiero _ : I want.  _ Estar _ : To be.  _ Solas _ : alone.  _ Contigo _ : with you.

Shit.

_ Deseo _ : I wish.  _ Poder _ : to be able to.  _ Besarte _ : to kiss you.

Fuck.

The last one requires you to look it up in the phrasebook. ‘I want you’ didn’t feel right. When you find it you almost drop the book on the floor.

_ Te quiero _ : I love you.


	2. Chapter 2

You enter the embassy and head straight to your desk. You know there’s a conversation waiting to happen, but you don’t want to do it this early. One short night of sleep hasn’t been enough to process everything; you could barely work through the words Javier had said, let alone how he had asked you to dance.

How he had groped you on the dance floor. 

How you had  _ liked _ it.

Javier’s office is along the way to your desk and you make a point to look straight ahead, hoping he won’t notice you.

“Y/N,” calls a voice, absent of all energy. You turn, caught.

You backtrack your steps and stop at the door to Javier’s office. His sunglasses are on and his head is propped up by his arm on the desk.

“Hey, Javi,” you say. You lean against the doorframe, keeping part of your body hidden.

The memory of him puking all over the sidewalk the night before is enough of an explanation for his appearance today. He must be incredibly hungover. You know you would be. It’d been a long time since you’d been that drunk.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he says. “For last night.”

“It’s no big deal, you would have done the same,” you say. That much you know to be true. Javier might not give a shit about anyone’s emotions, but he sure as hell cares about the welfare of everyone he knew. He would probably even risk his pride to show up sheepishly at the hospital for Stechner if things got bad enough.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he says. He pulls off his sunglasses and winced at the light before continuing. “I honestly wouldn’t have expected you to help.”

Ouch.

You had been avoiding him, that was true. But only because it had gotten to the point where being with him hurt. Especially when he would throw every secretary in the embassy the wicked grin that would send them home thinking about him. You had been distant because you cared too much. Not because you had stopped caring.

You lower your voice and look down at your feet, almost too embarrassed now to say anything. “I still care about you, Javi. You were—it was bad. You needed help.”

Your heart is pounding. You need to bring up what he had said. Let him know you knew. He hadn’t brought it up yet and that worries you. 

Maybe he doesn’t want you to know what he said. 

“Well, regardless, I don’t remember anything between my second shot of tequila and vomiting outside, but your kindness saved me. I felt like shit... still do.”

_ He doesn’t remember? Anything? _

“I’m sorry you had to deal with me,” he continues, speaking slowly. It looks like every word made his head hurt a bit more. “I know I’m talkative when drunk, say things I don’t mean. I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

“I, um.” Shit. He didn’t just not remember. He didn’t mean a word. You blinked back some tears and stared straight at the teal wall behind him. “No idea what you said. It was all Spanish. All night long.”

“Oh.” Javier looks back down at his desk.

This hurts more than it should. You had been so happy last night, knowing that he had felt the same way about you. You let yourself believe, if only for a few moments, that you had a chance.

You can’t keep talking to him. Not today.

“See you around, Peña,” you say, turning to leave.

You get about fifteen steps away when he calls you back again.

“Wait, Y/N!”

You go back to the door.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Javi, I—no,” you exhale. This is too much. You should have known the second you read those words in the dictionary that it was all too good to be true. And Javier isn’t to blame, you are. You knew he was drunk. He didn’t have any control of his mouth, and you still believed it.

Your mind wanders back to his hands. Those hands that moved around your back, that grabbed your ass, that palmed your breast. Did he mean those too? Or was that really just him reverting to who he was when drunk. The Javier you knew would set his eyes on some young thing and take her home. Were you supposed to be that girl?

“So why are you acting so distant all of a sudden?” Javier asks. Something darker crosses over his eyes. “Did I—did I do something last night?”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, clearing the tears. You can feel the ghost of his hand on your chest and you want to tell him.

“Like you said,” you say instead, “you didn’t mean anything.”

It pains you to say it. And Javier sees right through you.

“Did I hurt you?” he breathes. His eyes are wide and you know his mind was racing with all sorts of possibilities.

You don’t want to think about the fact that he’s worried for a good reason. Worried because he knows that when he doesn’t have control, there’s a real possibility he would hurt someone. And you know he wouldn’t. Not with you. Not intentionally.

“No.” You shake your head. “Nothing like that. You—Javi, it was stupid and not really important. And it’s probably better to have this conversation when you’re not hungover.”

You turn to leave again. This conversation has taken more of a toll on you than should be allowed before work. You don’t know how you’re going to focus. Your mind is swimming and all you can see is the blurry blue of Javier’s office’s walls.

“Y/N, please tell me,” he says, his voice wavering.

You know he wouldn’t be pleading with you if he didn’t care. If he didn’t mean things, at least he wants to ensure he hadn’t hurt you. You can tell he is scared. Scared he had done something.

You imagine being him, no memory of the night before, the only one who seemingly is able to explain withdrawing on him.

“Please don’t disappear on me,” he says.

You feel the tug at your heart and you turn back, stepping inside his office this time and closing the door.

What can you say? How can you explain everything he did? Everything you felt?

“We, um, you—you asked me to dance,” you say.

Javier looks surprised. “So?”

“And we did,” you say. “And you were a bit, I don’t know? You?”

You regret those words as soon as you see the look on his face. You hadn’t seen him looking so scared, so guilty, in all the years you’d known him.

He reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, exhaling.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

It’s so much worse than you could have imagined because Javier’s thinking about how he is when he dances when drunk. And you’ve seen it before.

You’ve watched from the sidelines, tears hot in the corners of your eyes as you sipped a drink. He’d done it many times before, pulling some girl into his arms as he would grind up against her and her tiny frame. He’d have her half undressed in his arms as he practically had sex with her on the dance floor, only to invite her home to finish it off.

He did it for the same reason you all had a vice. Steve had his violent outbursts. You knew another guy in the DEA who would never admit it, but smoked marijuana. There was a CIA agent who spent his weekends out in the jungle, shooting at almost any living thing. You spent all your spare money on stupid trinkets and makeup and little things you’d never use during long trips to malls and markets. Some people ate their feelings. Some people didn’t eat at all. Some people drank. Many more smoked. A lot. It’s all so you can forget the things you’re forced to do.

Down here in Colombia, there are no good guys. That much you learned in the first few weeks. You have to either find a way to forgive yourself or numb yourself enough so you don’t feel the guilt.

Javier’s way of doing that just has the side effect of making you feel like your heart is ripped in half every night.

And he’s sitting at his desk, looking horrified as his mind races with the thoughts of what you could have meant. You wish you could snatch the words out of the air just so he doesn’t look as conflicted as he does now.

“No, no, no,” you backtrack. “That, the dancing, it was fine. It was...good. You were just—do you really not remember any of it?”

You want him to remember what he said. Even if he didn’t mean it. It would make this easier. You wouldn’t be stuck reliving his hips rolling up against yours in the warm night, his deep voice growling words you didn’t know into your ear.

“No, Y/N,” he says. “It’s all blurry.”

You wish it was all blurry for you. The details of the night are surprisingly sharp for having happened while tipsy. You remember the hot skin on his neck, beads of sweat dripping as you swayed amongst the crowd. The warm glow of the lights casting soft shadows across his face. His hands on your hips, pulling you in again and again.

The words passing through his lips: ‘te quiero.’

“You... you.” You’re looking up at Javier and your vision is faded. Hot tear trails line your cheeks as you realize how much this conversation has ruined you.

How do you tell someone that they said they loved you? How do you tell someone that they’re breaking your heart?

In a cruel way, it almost makes sense. Of course, you wouldn’t get a happy ending from this. You don’t deserve one. None of you do. You all do horrible things. They might be permissible to the government, but anyone with morals knows you walk along the fine line that separates the law enforcers from the breakers. It’s a life that doesn’t get to end smiling alongside a significant other.

“Fuck, Y/N, please, you’re scaring me,” Javier says, standing up from his desk. “What did I do?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? What _did_ he do? What  _ didn’t _ he do? 

What  _ didn’t _ he feel?

You know you’re about to let the tears break over. Break down into sobs in front of Javier. And you know it’s not because of him. You’re at your limit. There’s a point at which someone cannot take more suppression of their own feelings. And you have just hit it.

There are two options in which you boil over, and number one, curling into a sobbing mess, isn’t the most dignified one. Number two is not much better but there’s nothing else.

You take a deep breath.

“Javi, I’ve liked you for a long damn time, and last night, you were—you were dancing and talking and you said some things, said that you liked me,” you admit. It is out now. You look down to avoid seeing Javier’s immediate reaction. You don’t want to see rejection so soon. “And I was—stupidly—happy. And I know obviously I shouldn’t, because that’s rule number one here, and I know you didn’t mean it, so forgive me if I can’t really handle this right now, I don’t want you to fuck with my emotions any more so I’d really like to forget it all.”

In the end, choosing option two isn’t keeping you from option one, as it takes every bit of energy left to remain standing as your face heats with the tears and you sniffle through your last sentence.

You glance up at Javier, finally getting a look at his reaction. His face is almost blank, except his lower lip, tucked between his teeth, and his brows which are ever so slightly furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

You know what this means. You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt. It must look terrible, but you’re past the point of caring.

“I’m gonna leave,” you say, trying to keep your voice stable. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while. I need to forget you.”

Your heart feels like it’s being crushed and you know it’s your own fault. You’ve really dug yourself into a hole over the years.

“Wait!” Javier runs around his desk, grabbing your arm to stop you from opening the door. He swings you around to face him.

You’re breathing heavily, and are aware of the deep rise and fall of your chest, inches from where Javier stands. You look into his eyes and there’s a softness that you know Javier doesn’t usually hold.

“I don’t remember what I said,” he starts, “But if I said that?  _ I meant it _ .”

_ Fuck.  _ Okay.

“And I don’t remember what happened last night, but I hope I didn’t do anything to push you away,” he says.

Trust Javier to put your emotions on a plane ride through a lighting storm. You want to kiss him, hug him,  _ something _ . But you’re stuck in the shock of it all.

“You weren’t supposed to ever know,” he says. “It’s not supposed to happen. You know that. I thought if you knew, I’d lose you. I wouldn’t ever get to see you in the capacity I’ve been lucky enough to get to.”

He’s right. None of this is allowed. But despite that, it’s happening.

You focus on his hand, holding your arm. You want to pull him in. But you can’t. Not with all the windows in this office. The whole embassy can’t know. And they don’t deserve to.

“You didn’t push me away,” you say, “I wouldn’t ever want to lose you either.”

“You said I was only speaking Spanish?” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” you smile, breaking eye contact to stare at the ground. “I remembered a few things. Looked them up when I got home.”

“What did I say?”

“Well, I only got a few of the many sentences,” you say. “I thought you were saying something suggestive the whole time. You were grinding up against me.”

You glanced up at Javier, whose cheeks were turning a bit red. You were lucky the room was soundproof. You both knew you couldn’t move any closer. This was your alternative.

“You kept talking into my ear, and your hands were running down my back. You said you wanted to be alone with me. That you wanted to kiss me.”

You stared into Javier, saw the shadow of arousal in his eyes, and grinned.

“Then when I thought it couldn’t get any better, you pulled me in close and said ‘ _ Te quiero _ .’”


End file.
